The only fact Nate didn’t care to share with the good sheriff was his prior personal relationship with Kacey O’Donnell, Marine Captain, Retired. Oops, my bad. Nate grinned to himself. He didn’t need all his tricks to tumble out of his hat, not quite yet.
The simple act of seeing Kacey again had rocked his world, hard. Even though he knew it would happen, running into her took his breath away, literally and figuratively. His one-time lover looked wrecked. The dark smudges under her usually bright green eyes were not normal, nor the creases in her forehead. Her creamy Irish skin had lost its golden glow, nearly paled to watered-down milk. Always lean, she’d lost weight, and the effect didn’t look good on her. She’d acted jittery that morning, rocked from one foot to the other. She’d either turned into a junkie, or planned to bolt from the building at any moment. Just when he was about to give in to the temptation to yank her into his arms, she’d scrammed.
Nate hadn’t known what to expect when they’d finally met again—maybe he’d spent too much time imagining the possibilities, spent too much time jazzed up about seeing her. The last time—the only time—they’d been nakedly intimate had been amazing. It hadn’t even been the rockin’ hot sex, as mind-blowing as that had been.
He’d been immediately certain that Kacey completed the whole freakin’ package. Intellect, wicked sense of humor, strong, rough and tough but still feminine, with a body to kill for. The high cheekbones of her elfin face came in second to the plump rosebud lips that had parted for him and stolen his soul. Dynamite green eyes that changed from light to dark, like the sea. Freckles fed by the hot desert sun, freckles which she didn’t bother to hide. All topped off by soft red hair with highlights naturally bleached auburn by the rays of that same sun. She’d been everything he wanted, everything he needed—before he even knew it.
A day and a night, that’s all they’d had. The morning after, the world turned to hammered shit. That world had crashed down around her—and he’d immediately been shipped out again, hadn’t been there when she needed him the most. She’d taken on the burdens, refused to turn them loose. A surge of anger crept into his gut. War was gut deep, cock knockin’ ugly. The unexpected happens, regardless of how well trained, how well prepared the players.
Shit, maybe she blamed him, too. He didn’t know why that thought just occurred to him. Instead of catching up on much needed sleep after they’d both worked themselves into the ground, they’d rolled around in a mud brick Afghani hut, limbs tangled like clingy creeper vines, until sexual exhaustion wiped them out. They’d all they could do to drag their energy-depleted asses back to the transport helo in time to make roll call at the base.
Kace, baby, there was nothing you could do. Nothing I could do. Orders are orders, no way around that. Decisions from higher up, way above our pay grade. Out of our hands.
Nate wandered back into MacCaffree’s office, took a seat while Bob finished his coffee. He didn’t know how this would play out, but he thought it would be worth a try.
“Sheriff, if you don’t mind me asking, what did you mean out there about Kacey outthinking the bad guys? I mean, since I seem to have been shanghaied into your band of merry men, I should probably get to know the lay of the land.”
Big Bob settled deeply in his office chair, the cracked brown leather creaking under his bulk. Their gazes locked long enough that Nate didn’t think the man would respond.
The veteran sheriff finally blinked, broke the stare, then gave a shrug. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt none to say. No better people than the O’Donnell family. Kacey’s folks tried for years to have kids, but nothing. They finally gave up, got involved in doin’ good deeds in the community, especially for children, families in need, so forth. Then, surprise, surprise, along came little Kacey, bringin’ her own little spark of sunshine.
“Boy oh boy, her family flew over the moon. I wouldn’t say they spoiled her, but she managed to be a right piece a’work as a youngster, a real little firecracker. Followed her daddy everywhere. Kevan O’Donnell spent lots of time in town, in the municipal buildings, him and the missus bein’ involved with community projects. That youngster stayed close at his heels. She did love her papa.
“Kacey liked to visit here, always wanted to do po-leese stuff, as she called it. Smart as a whip, that girl. When she was growin’ up, just show her a crime board, give her a slew of random-sounding facts, then let her cogitate on the mess for a while. Then, bam! She’d come up with a solution, sometimes totally off the charts.
“Just for shits n’ giggles, I started keepin’ notes. All unofficial, of course. By the time she’d finished college, she had a ninety-nine percent accuracy rate of the solved cases in the surrounding areas. Ninety-nine percent, can ya believe it? Only missed one guy, who was more psychotic than anyone realized, including his own shrink. Profiling ain’t exactly an accurate science, but that little gal is the best profiler I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t decide whether she was too brilliant for words, or criminally insane.” He chuckled. “I’m still not entirely sure which is true.”
“Why didn’t she sign on with you?”
Big Bob stretched out his tree trunk legs, forcing more squeaks and creaks from the protesting chair. “Honestly? Dunno. Thought she would. Majored in law enforcement in that fancy college o’ hers, and I know she caught the eye of at least one FBI agent from the Boston field office. Right on the tip of my tongue, his name. She always got a giggle outta it. Oh, Cannon. Special Agent Jack Cannon.”
Nate mulled that over. “So, what happened? What changed her mind?”
“Can’t say. Graduated with honors. Next thing we know, she’s enlisted in the Marines. Signed, sealed, delivered. Her folks were not happy about her new career choice, I can tell ya that.”
He carefully gathered up the crumbs from his muffin, rolled them into a paper napkin. “Between you, me, and the lamp post, I think her dad was secretly proud of what she did, goin’ out on her own like that. Probably bothered her mother more, little Kacey being her only child.”
Nate sat back in his own chair, his fingers steepled over his chest. “And that’s it?”
“Yup, pretty much. Lost track for a bit, then heard she’d made helo jockey. Not really all that much of a surprise, seein’ as how her grandpappy O’Donnell was one of the Flying Tigers in World War Two, her dad a fighter pilot in ’Nam, decorations and all, plus a crackerjack bush pilot.”
Nate’s brain seemed caught in the spin cycle. How could he have spent so much time with Kacey and not known all this history? “Bush pilot?”
A wide grin split Bob’s craggy face. “Oh hell yeah, from the time he was a teenager. Had his own de Havilland Beaver. A real sweet ride. Candy apple red and white. Kept that baby new and shiny like she was a cherry ’55 Chevy Bel Air. Named her Pin-up Girl. Flew everywhere. Had wheels, skis, floats, everything. There wasn’t anywhere Pin-up Girl couldn’t go. Forest fires, lost hikers, or skiers, he was always volunteerin’ to help. Guess his little girl didn’t fall far from that tree.
“Momma came from Boston, grew up more Junior League—but, boy oh boy, that Genevieve was a real red-headed, green-eyed looker. You’re too young to know, but she looked like Maureen O’Hara in her heyday. Kevan had Genevieve painted on the nose of his plane, told everyone it was the actress because the artwork was a bit risqué. Guess our Kacey got the best of both—looks and brains.”
“While we were in-country, I heard scuttlebutt about her folks being lost, but nothing concrete. How did they die?”
“Nothing official yet, but the FAA suspects wind shear. The mountains in this part of the country can be brutal, what with sharp peaks and valleys and drop offs—the wind currents can change quicker than half a heartbeat. They were flyin’ back from some big lumber conference in Aspen, sorta like a busman’s holiday. Storm kicked up kinda sudden—they went down about an hour west of their own airfield. At least they went quick—the medical examiner said their necks snapped on impact.” He shook his head. “Damn shame, they we
re mighty good people.”
Nate nodded. “Kacey had shipped out by the time we got back from our last op, never found out exactly what happened.” News about her folks followed not too long after the helo crash that took out her Viper. Then she’d taken off. Gone. No message. Nothing.
The sheriff rubbed his brow. “They were close, those three. Now, just our little Kacey left—the other family, all ancient, had finally died off during Kacey’s time in college. She tries to act all tough, but losin’ the last of her people that way took the wind out of her sails, I’ll tell ya, that’s for true.”
And taking off the way she did took the wind out of mine.
Nate thanked the sheriff, left the municipal building, headed for his hotel. Tried to shake off the past, but Kacey wouldn’t stay gone. He changed course, turned away from the hotel instead of toward it. He needed to see her again. Now. No more excuses from her. His cock, aroused in his briefs at the excitement of finding her at last, acted as a compass.
He knew from Jonah that she lived on Timberwyck, but he had no idea if it was a street, road, or boulevard. Whenever he asked for directions, the stock answer from the sturdy New England townies was, “Ayah, keep goin’, ya can’t be missin’ it now, can ya?”
He must be looking for a main thoroughfare. In the quaint, touristy town with its bustling summer crowds, it should be easy enough to find.
Damn, finally. A large, well-crafted, artistic sign depicted a colorful mountain scene and “Timberwyck” crafted in elegant gold script, posted at the edge of a neat gravel road outlined with boards as thick as railroad ties. Not a major thoroughfare, more like a wide driveway. Could be a seasonal road. Wonder why she lives on a seasonal road? He was familiar with such roads, being from New York State. Seasonal roads were usually closed from November until April, or thereabouts. No snow plowing, no regular maintenance. Usually signs stated that one should navigate at one’s own risk, unless traveling by four-wheeler or snow machine.
Dappled light reached him through the long fingers of branches that nearly intertwined overhead, as insects buzzed lazily in the slow June heat captured under the tree canopy. The heavy scent of wild honeysuckle soothed the senses, made one think of faerie rings and goat-footed Pan. As he broke clear of the trees, he saw it. Timberwyck.
Only Timberwyck wasn’t a location, it was an entity. A structure. A huge, multistoried edifice. A mansion, from back in the days when such undertakings had style. It reminded him of The Breakers in Newport, Rhode Island, which he’d visited as a young boy with his family. The four treasured postcards, matted in a group and framed, still hung in his old bedroom at his parents’ house. Built of the same type brick, concrete, and limestone as The Breakers, Timberwyck appeared somewhat more elegantly countrified than glaringly opulent.
He had no idea who would answer the melodic chimes behind the massive entrance doors with their leaded glass inserts, but a frazzled, sleepy looking Kacey O’Donnell wasn’t it. Not usually at a loss for words, nothing came out of his mouth.
She propped herself against the door jamb, looked for all the world like a wiseass teenager leaning on a street corner lamp post, except she’d exchanged her running shoes for oversized boot socks. If she had bubble gum to snap, the image would have been perfect.
“Cute outfit.”
By her raised eyebrow and quirky, downturned mouth, she wasn’t overjoyed to find him on the doorstep. Nor did she find his repartee very clever.
“Nathan, what the hell could you possibly want?”
“You live here?”
“No, I’m the freakin’ day maid. Can’t ya tell? My little black outfit with the white apron is in the laundry. The stiletto heels didn’t go well with my running shorts. Sorry.”
He did the hands in the pockets thing to keep himself in check. “I don’t remember you being quite as bitchy so soon after hello.”
“Yeah, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Plus, I didn’t actually say hello.” She took a step outside, looked around. “Where’s your car? How’d you get here?”
“I walked.”
She seemed to consider that, stepped back into the house. “What do you want?”
“We need to talk.”
“Nathan, we don’t need to do anything.”
Other than his mother, only Kacey ever called him Nathan. Usually, it gave him a special feeling, a rush of warmth, especially when she cried it out when he made her come. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He was afraid to look down, afraid he had a bull’s eye painted on his chest.
Her fingers pantomimed walking. “You strolled here, so you can just stroll right on back into town. Good-bye.” She began to close the heavy door, but he stepped forward to hold it open. His big body blocked her.
“Kace, this is serious. I’m not leaving until we talk.”
To his surprise, her eyes didn’t flash with green fire as they usually did when she stood her ground. Instead, she rolled over and went belly up, stepped back into the foyer. “Fine. Whatever. Just don’t stand there like an idiot.”
Momentarily off center at the sudden capitulation, he hesitated for an instant, then caught up. Kacey led the way through myriad high-ceilinged hallways and rooms, past museum quality furnishings, paintings, and objets d’art, then down staircases. They finally reached a giant kitchen extensive enough to have supplied meals for Genghis Khan and his Mongol hordes.
She pulled out a chair with an impatient twist of her wrist, motioned for him to sit at the enormous butcher block table. “I lost my appetite for coffee. Will iced tea do?”
“Sure.” He sat, then immediately rose, walked around the room, checked out the amenities. “So, you really live here.” A statement, not a question.
The eye roll was a dead giveaway—he obviously annoyed her. “Yes. Short version. My folks were both killed in a plane crash, which I’m sure you already know. After their bodies were recovered, I was granted emergency leave to come home for the funeral. Returned long enough to be discharged, came back here to stay. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, all gone. So, now I’m it. Me, the last linebred descendent of the O’Donnell lumber barons.”
He pulled out another chair, settled. “And Timberwyck?”
“As far as I can tell, wyck is an old fashioned word for district. Timber is self-explanatory. The town of Winterpine was so named, according to family legend, because a great-great-great-great-grand something Agatha loved the smell of cut pines dragged through the snow to the mills, loved the property, all twenty-thousand acres. She called the area Winterpine, and the moniker stuck. Somewhere around seventeen-ninety, I believe.”
That brought him upright. “Twenty thousand acres?”
She shrugged, pushed a tall glass of iced tea toward him, then leaned back against a giant, twelve-burner stove with her own glass. “More or less. Might be more, now. I haven’t really paid attention to acquisitions in years.”
“And you never thought to share this little bit of family history while we were together?” The words came out a bit harsher than he’d planned, but, what the hell, there it was. How much had she kept from him?
Another shrug, somewhat halfhearted. “Why? Would knowing all this stuff have made a difference? Really? The United States Marine Corps didn’t care. It didn’t change me. Didn’t change who I am. People tend to treat one differently after they discover one has tons of money. I learned to avoid all that at an early age. Made life easier.”
He took a moment to digest the information. Then he rose, walked to her, removed the emptied drink from her hand, then placed both glasses on the counter. “I’m not just anyone. And you still haven’t explained why you ran off without even leaving a note.”
“Nathan, you were on patrol and I needed to leave. After the helo…incident…staying at the base was already iffy. Then my folks died. Couldn’t see my way clear to sign up for another tour. Don’t you think that’s enough? Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”
“Maybe I would, but you didn’t exactly answer
my question.” Finally making eye contact, he didn’t back off. “Are you rattling around here alone?”
She cocked her head to the side like the RCA Victor dog, delaying before she answered. “If you really must know, yes. After the funeral, when everyone could breathe again, I gave the entire staff time off. They needed it, deserved it. The housekeeper and the dailies will begin arriving on Monday.”
“Today’s Friday.”
She cocked her head again, sent a wrinkle-lipped, Elvis-quality smirk his way. “Did you figure that out on your fingers, all by your little self?”
Goddamned it, she was exasperating. That hadn’t changed a bit. He grabbed her wrist, made sure she couldn’t break free of his grip. With no idea where to go, he led—okay, dragged—her up stairs, down halls, through room after room. He finally saw the disturbed pillows and throw blanket hanging off the sofa in what appeared to be a parlor. He nearly threw her down onto the cushions. “Sit.” He tossed his jacket on a side chair, pushed up the sleeves on his pullover. “Stay.”
She leveled the glare of the hairy eyeball at him, plus one eyebrow had already risen to a pointed arch. “Okay, enough. I’m not a goddamned Golden Retriever. Nathan, look, whatever’s on your mind—”
He knew better than to argue. In any war of words she was ruthless, and he’d never win. Instead, he lowered himself to his knees on the carpet, placed his hands on her thighs, then drew her close.
“Damn it, Nathan—”
“Hush.”
Both eyebrows rose, and her green eyes finally sparked a bit. “You did not just shush me!”
“Yeah, I did. Now, be quiet.”
He brought her hands to his mouth, softly kissed the backs of her knuckles. Her sharp intake of breath told him that he’d taken the fight out of her, at least for the moment. Maybe he’d simply confused her. Fuck it. He wasn’t proud—whatever worked.
Sliding his fingers behind her butt, he pulled her forward, wrapped her legs around his hips.
Kacey stiffened, but didn’t pull away. He took that as a positive sign, and refused to overthink it.
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